A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (8 page)

A storm! How was Tessie to know there was going to be a
real
storm? And not just a little storm. Oh, no! Father Christmas, Mother Nature, or whoever was in truly charge of the weather, conspired to dump nearly two feet of snow on Warwickshire. And she’d been stuck at Wellesbourne Park for the last sennight. Blast Mr. Powell and his aching bones! And blast every flake of snow that was falling even now. At this rate, she’d be stuck in Warwickshire until next Christmas. There wasn’t a thing she could do to remedy her situation either, which was more than infuriating.

For days, she’d had to pretend that everything was fine for Uncle Martin’s sake, spend her days laughing with Miranda and Pippa as though she hadn’t a care in the world, and crawl into bed each night more tired than the last and feeling more envious of her friends’ happy lives than she had been the day before. Thankfully, it was rather easy to avoid Lord Berkswell with the exception of dinner when everyone was present. But during the day, he kept mostly to himself in his study and seemed honor-bound to keep his distance from her.

At least there was that.

No more improper suggestions. No more insulting accusations. No more humiliating apologies. No more flipped bellies either.

Not that Tessie missed that last bit. There was no reason for her belly to flip in response to the condescending Lord Berkswell. No reason at all.

“It is
your
turn!” Miranda complained, breaking Tessie from her reverie.

Tessie glanced back at the cards in her hand and sighed. “You are impatient. You do know that, do you not?”

Miranda sniffed. “I think I very patiently waited five minutes for you to discard from your hand, Theresa Birkin.”

“Ah, yes, you’re the very picture of patience.” Tessie giggled and dropped her cards to the table. “Can’t we do something else? I could never play another round of piquet in my life and be perfectly happy.”

“Meaning you don’t wish to lose to me again?” Miranda quirked one brow at her.

Miranda was very nearly unbeatable at anything related to cards, not that Tessie generally cared about losing. She was just tired of looking at cards and being cooped up inside Wellesbourne Park. “Wouldn’t a nice walk be just the thing?” she suggested.

Her friend sat back in her chair in surprise. “In the middle of a snowstorm? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

The blasted snow. “I suppose not.” Tessie sighed but then an old memory flashed in her mind. At one point, they’d had quite a bit of fun in the snow. “Do you remember the time Penny threw that snowball that hit Calista in the back of the head?”

Miranda’s face lit up at their shared memory. Every Bartlett in residence had ended up on one side or another of their little wintry war. “You mean the beginning of the great snowball fight of 1809?”

Tessie giggled. “By the end of it, Simeon and Lord Marston were shivering and nearly blue.”

“Papa had the worst throwing arm,” Miranda laughed right along with her. And truly, the late Lord Marston did have the aim of blind man with a broken arm.

“And Penny had the best. Of course.”

The tinkering sound of feminine laughter halted Berks’s step, and he glanced towards the white parlor.
She
was in there. Miss Birkin. The warm, rich, inviting sound of her laughter washed over him, and he had the overwhelming desire to stride straight into the room just to see her, just as he’d wanted to do each and every day for the last sennight. Foolishly, he’d find himself hovering right outside whatever room she inhabited, wishing he’d hadn’t bungled things as badly as he had. But he’d honored her wishes and had successfully kept his distance from her. But now… Well, she sounded so cheerful and…

“Is there a reason you’re blocking the corridor?” Harry asked from behind him.

Berks glanced over his shoulder to find his brother wearing an old brown jacket and a smug expression. Good God, where the devil had he found that nearly threadbare jacket? The donation heap? Berks frowned at Harry. “Have your clothes been misplaced?”

Harry looked down at his jacket and shrugged. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s ugly.”

“I had no idea you were such a slave to fashion.”

Berks lifted his brow. “You just usually look more put together, that’s all.”

His brother chuckled. “Usually I’m not trapped inside Wellesbourne Park for days at a time. If I’m to be stuck here indefinitely, I’m going to be comfortable.”

“Heaven forbid I keep you from being comfortable.”

Harry agreed with an incline of his head. “How very kind of you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a kiss from my wife, and you are blocking the corridor.”

Berks couldn’t help but laugh. Harry had been quite the nuisance with his bit of mistletoe over the last sennight. “More coercion?”

“I prefer to think of it as a diversion.” Harry then grinned rakishly, lightly shoved Berks’s shoulder to get past him and said under his breath, “Watch and learn, brother mine.”

Berks resisted the urge to snort. There was nothing to learn. He’d been watching Harry bait Miranda with that sprig of mistletoe for days now. Still… Miss Birkin was in the white parlor, and she
had
sounded so cheerful just a few moments ago. It wouldn’t really hurt to catch a glimpse of her, would it?

Before he could change his mind, he followed his brother’s lumbering form into the white parlor, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Miss Birkin was still as lovely as an angel. Her silky, flaxen hair was knotted over one shoulder and her sea-colored eyes flashed up to meet his gaze. Damn it all, he’d been a giant fool to have said the things to her that he’d done.

A tentative smile tipped her lips, and for the briefest of moments Berks was certain he’d have slain a dragon if just to have her keep smiling at him.

“Harrison Casemore,” Miranda began stubbornly, drawing Berks’s attention to his sister-in-law, who sat across from Miss Birkin. “You put that mistletoe back in your pocket this instant.”

But Harry only lifted his brow in response. He held the little sprig out before him, the very one he’d been brandishing for a sennight whenever the urge to kiss his wife struck him. “You mean
this
mistletoe, Miranda?”

His wife feigned an indignant sigh. “I am
not
kissing you right now. I don’t care…”

“So I shouldn’t do this?” Her husband lifted the spring right above his head. “Because if I do this, you’ll
have
to kiss me, won’t you?”

Berks bit back a laugh. Though a girl like Miranda would drive him mad within a day, it was rather sweet how much in love Harry was with the chit.

Miranda pushed up to her feet and punched her hands to her hips. “I have kissed you a million times. I think that bit of plant has worn out all of its magical powers. Be gone with you.”

Harry chuckled. “Worn out its powers? My darling, each time you’ve kissed me, it’s only grown stronger. And I
know
you don’t want to go against tradition. It’s bad luck and all, besides—”

“You are incorrigible, you know?”

Harry inclined his head in agreement. “And still desperately in love with you, my darling Miranda.” He wiggled the mistletoe over his head. “Come now, don’t make me wait.”

Like a dutiful wife, Miranda crossed the floor, and lifted up on her tiptoes. Harry dipped his head down to his wife’s and gently pressed his lips against hers. Berks glanced back at Miss Birkin to find her eyes still on him. If only there truly was some magic in Harry’s sprig of mistletoe. A fanciful thought, of course, but if he could gain her forgiveness, if he could kiss her but once—

His reverie was instantly broken when Davis nearly barreled over him in his haste to enter the white parlor. “I am so sorry, milord,” his butler apologized. “I didn’t see you.”

“What
is
the matter?” Berks asked, frowning at his old servant. Davis was never one to rush anywhere, and he always watched where he was going, the epitome of comportment.

“It’s Mr. Pratt,” Davis returned quickly. Then he glanced across the room at Miss Birkin. “Your uncle isn’t feeling well. He’s asking for you.”

Miss Birkin was on her feet in the blink of an eye, her pretty face now etched with concern. “He’s not feeling well?” she asked, rushing towards the doorway. “He seemed fine at breakfast.”

“I really don’t know, Miss,” the butler replied. “The footmen helped deliver him to his chambers and Miss Mills said I was to retrieve you right away.”

“Of course,” she nodded, her face a bit ashen.

Before he could stop himself, Berks offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you, Miss Birkin.”

She glanced at his arm as though it was an asp bent on her destruction, but after a brief pause, she slid her arm around his. “Thank you, my lord.”

What he wouldn’t give to hear her call him Berks, to have that sound roll off her tongue. What he wouldn’t give to be able to erase the worried expression from angelic face.

He directed her down the corridor. “Don’t fret, my dear. I’m certain he’ll be fine.”

Her brow creased in consternation. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not,” she said softly, her voice more than a little shaky. “He’s all I have left. The only family I have in the world. He has to be all right. He just has to.”

Poor girl. Berks squeezed her hand that was resting on his arm and smiled what he hoped was reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. I’ll make certain he is.”

She tilted her head slightly, as though to get a better look at him; her blue-green eyes clouded with a mix of concern and embarrassment.

Oh, he must think her a fool. Blathering on about Uncle Martin when she knew absolutely nothing about what was wrong with him or even
if
there was anything wrong with him. Her uncle might very well be all right, sitting up in bed with a mild headache and a cup of tea, looking for her company. She hadn’t seen him yet. There was no point in getting herself worked up over absolutely nothing. 

Uncle Martin had been perfectly fine at breakfast. He’d be fine now. He had to be.  There was nothing to worry about. He probably just needed some rest. He wasn’t as young as he once was, and he’d been keeping later nights than he was accustomed to at home.

Tessie couldn’t keep the panic from coursing through her veins, however. After Aunt Margaret’s untimely passing this last year, it was no wonder she was overly sensitive about her uncle’s health. Her aunt’s illness had come on suddenly and hadn’t lasted long. Tessie wasn’t even certain if the woman who’d raised her had even heard her final goodbyes. She couldn’t take repeating that experience with her uncle. She just couldn’t.

Even so, she shouldn’t have blurted out every worry she had to Lord Berkswell, of all people. Of everyone at Wellesbourne Park, he was the very last one she should confide in. Still, the marquess’s warm, brown eyes shone with kindness, and by some miracle, Tessie managed to walk without faltering under his gaze. She knew it was foolish to find comfort in
his
words, especially considering the things he usually said to her. Yet, she found herself slightly relieved by his strong presence and calm certainty anyway. “Thank you,” she muttered quietly.

“No need for thanks. I am at your service.”

Her heart fluttered a bit, but she forced the sensation away. Only a fool would take some sort of meaning from his words. And after everything Tessie had gone through, she was determined never be a fool again where men were concerned. Besides, she knew very well what Lord Berkswell truly thought about her. A few kind words now wouldn’t change that fact.

Before she knew it, they stood before Uncle Martin’s door, and Lord Berkswell pushed it open. He released his hold on Tessie’s arm and let her precede him into the bedchamber.

The marquess’s great aunt stood at the foot of the bed, worrying her hands in concern. But Tessie hardly noticed the elderly woman as her gaze almost instantly landed on Uncle Martin, lying in bed, his eyes barely open.

Oh good heavens! She raced to her uncle’s side. “What happened?” she asked, touching a hand to the old man’s brow.  She yanked it back a half-second later, her fingers nearly scorched. “He’s burning up!”

“We were strolling the orangery and he collapsed,” Miss Mills said, her voice more than a little shaky.

Collapsed? Tessie’s throat constricted in panic.

Lord Berkswell patted his great aunt on the back. “Are you all right?”

“It was the strangest thing.” The old woman nodded quickly. “I do wish Doctor Clarke was here, but with this storm…”

Heavens! With this storm, there wouldn’t be any way to retrieve a doctor for Uncle Martin. Tessie’s breath rushed from her lungs as her eyes locked with Lord Berkswell’s.

His brow furrowed, he nodded evenly. “I’ll retrieve Clarke.”

Hope blossomed in Tessie’s chest, but a deep gasp from the threshold drew her gaze away from the marquess. She hadn’t even realized Lord Harrison had followed them. The man raked a hand through his dark hair, concern splashed upon his face. “The roads aren’t passable, Berks. Not according to Powell.”

But Lord Berkswell shrugged slightly. “I’ll be careful.”

Tessie’s heart leapt with hope, but she couldn’t let the marquess risk his own life. It was kind of him to offer, but…“It’s too dangerous, my lord. You can’t.”

He cast her a sad smile. “I told you I’d make certain your uncle was fine. I am a man of my word.” With that, he spun on his heel, pushed past his brother, and strode into the corridor.

Taking the coach would be too dangerous. Berks would have to retrieve Clarke on horseback. Thankfully, Virbius was an excellent hunter that Berks had purchased from Cumberland earlier in the year. The chestnut was no stranger to wintry weather, and his foot was more than sure. Retrieving Clarke wouldn’t be simple, but it wasn’t impossible either.

So he’d need his greatcoat, his warmest gloves and—

“Wait!” The urgent sound of Harry’s voice from behind him halted Berks in his step.

He turned back to face his brother and said, “Time is of the essence, Harry.”

“You don’t know that.” Harry shook his head. “His fever could break and you could end up with a snapped neck in a snowdrift, and we wouldn’t find you until the thaw. “

There was nothing his brother could say that would dissuade Berks from his course. The look of panic and fear that flashed on Miss Birkin’s face when she reached her uncle’s side had been like a stab to Berks’s heart. He’d retrieve Doctor Clarke if it was the last thing he did. “As I said, I’ll be careful.”

His brother gaped at him as though he’d lost his mind, and perhaps he had. But there was no time to discuss that possibility at the moment.

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. “Going out in this weather is reckless, and you know it.”

Perhaps. But Berks knew the terrain as well as he knew his own name. He’d grown up at Wellesbourne, lived there all of his life. He’d be fine. Relatively. “We can discuss this when I get back with Clarke. “

Without another word, Berks turned around and started for his chambers to find his valet and gather what he’d need for the excursion.

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Harry called after him.

Berks glanced back at his brother once more. “Because she’s afraid of losing him, and I think she’s lost quite enough as it is, don’t you?”

Apparently dumbfounded, Harry simply blinked at him as though Berks was a foreign species he’d never glimpsed before. “Tessie?”

Berks shook his head. His brother needn’t sound so hypocritical. Over the years, Harry had performed more than his fair share of reckless acts. There was no reason for him to cast judgment on Berks now. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t brave this storm for Miranda. I know you would.”

“Of course.” Harry nodded, though his ever inquisitive green eyes narrowed on Berks. “But Miranda’s my
wife
. And Tessie’s just a girl you barely know, and by your own actions don’t even like.”

“I like her just fine.” And Berks would really rather not think too deeply about his brother’s words. Which was quite simple to do, actually. It was difficult to think about anything else when Theresa Birkin’s tortured face flashed over and over again in his mind. He’d brave a hundred storms to keep that expression from ever settling on her pretty face again.

“Enough to risk your life?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Apparently,” Berks replied before turning once more and striding down the corridor, away from his brother’s furrowed brow and questioning gaze. Sparring with Harry wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all Miss Birkin and her uncle. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.

Berks found his valet in the master’s chambers, went about preparing for the journey, and sent word for Virbius to be saddled and ready to ride.  He rushed through his preparations, trying to forget the painful expression Miss Birkin had worn.

As soon as he was able, Berks trekked from the manor house to the stables, ignoring the bitter, biting wind that whipped about his face.